Legacy
by AliceFranklyn
Summary: Nick and Zoe return to the ED, but they are hiding a big secret... How will the others react when they find out, and what does this mean for the pair of them?
1. Demons to Face

"It looks just the same."

"Well, it would. You haven't been gone that long."

"Weird without that shiny gold plaque outside the door."

"Jesus, don't start on about that damn plaque again! It's all you talk about!" Slapping him gently on the arm, she grinned and turned him to face her. Suddenly serious: "are you-"  
"For the hundredth time. Yes, I am sure. Yes, I want to see it again. No, you don't have to look so worried." She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried that the shock of seeing you is going to send everyone into a blind panic. We all thought we'd finally got rid of you!" Realising her unfortunate choice of words, she grimaced and apologized.

"Will you stop. Come on, let's get on with it." As she reached out, he stopped her: "No. I can do it myself."

It had taken a long time for Zoe to find him again. He hadn't been answering his emails, so she'd had to ring around, and had eventually flown out there, scouring hospitals until he had turned up at her hotel one evening with that same arrogant smile, knowing that she had been looking for him. His unflappable self assurance infuriated her: that smug grin and raised eyebrows had so often set her teeth on edge, and yet it had been one of the things that had drawn her to him. She had no time for whimpering boys or men who needed constant reassurance that they were still attractive, still funny, still good in bed. Jordan knew these things, knew that he could turn any head, not because of his looks or his money, but because of his ego. Although she would never ever admit it, not even to herself, it still made her girlishly happy that he had chosen her out of all the others so long ago.

"Are _you_ sure that you want to go back in? Now that Connie's on the throne?" He asked her seriously. He knew that stepping down from Clinical Lead, although what she had wanted, had meant swallowing a lot of pride, and that she was dreading seeing it in the hands of someone else, especially Connie Beauchamp.

She paused. "Yes. I am. I do belong there, but as a doctor, not sitting behind a desk with the bureaucrats in one hand and my staff in the other. Connie can deal with all that crap if she really wants." She meant it. "Now will you stop looking at me like that! We both have our demons to face, Nick."

He looked down. "Right. Let's just get on with it then, Doctor Hanna."

A familiar smile stretching across her face, she nods and puts a hand on his shoulder. He brings his hand up to meet hers and squeezes her fingers.

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more."

"Oh, Nick, please don't start quoting Shakespeare at me." Chuckling to himself, he headed towards the entrance.

As she followed him, she felt a sudden pang of- almost pride. Although he was smaller and more vulnerable, not even his wheelchair could quite deaden those waves of confidence.

**Hope you liked the twist at the end ;) If you have a minute/ want to, I would love to know what you thought, good or bad... xxx**


	2. Confessions

It was typical that the first person they saw was Charlie Fairhead; part of the furniture of the ED; any attempt at getting rid of him had invariably ended badly. Same old awkward smile and light laugh: he half raised his arms and then brought them back down to his sides.  
"Nick, Zoe, we weren't expecting you were we?" His joy and surprise short lived as he took in the full sight. "Nick, what's happened?"  
"Don't look so shocked, Charlie, I'm fine. Where is everyone?"

"The staff room, probably, it's the end of shift. Nick, I don't-" But Nick wheeled himself past Charlie, not wanting to dwell on the chair. Charlie looked at Zoe, concerned, but she kissed him on the cheek, took his arm and pulled him along with her.

"Don't worry about him. You know what he's like."

In the staff room, cries of joy at seeing their old bosses echoed round the room. Everyone was there: old faces who had been there since they began, and new ones who not even Zoe knew. They could both feel pangs for those not here: Adam, Jay, Linda, Lenny, but the hugs, the handshakes and the good wishes from those present kept them distracted. It felt good to be back here, amongst friends. In Michigan, Zoe had known practically no one, although Yvonne's mother had been round for tea one evening, and there had been the awkward weekend when Francis came to visit. Here, Zoe could slip back into her old self, comfortable with her surroundings and the person who she was in the ED. Dr Hanna.

As people left to get back to work, others came in, Jeff and Big Mac from a shout, Noel from reception, and they had to fend off more questions about the wheelchair.

"I'm fine, Mac, really. My leg's giving me a bit of trouble, that's all."

"Well then, if you're sure doc. Nice to see you both back here again. Hope you don't mind me askin', like, but are you two…?" The unfinished question to which everyone wanted to know the answer had them all interested. None of them had ever really known what there was between them, only that there was something. Whether they were in a secret relationship, openly engaged or just friends, anyone could see that they were close. They had come back to Holby together.

Before Nick could answer the question, Tess walked in, and the whole rigmarole started again.

Gradually, everyone left the staffroom, until just Zoe, Nick, Tess and Charlie remained. As the silence fell, Zoe caught Nick's eye. _Are you OK? _ Her concern was visible. _Fine._

"Coffee anyone?" Tess' motherly nature took over as she automatically fussed over them.

"Thanks, Tess." Zoe smiled and sat down.

Charlie took a breath. He knew that he was unlikely to get a straight answer from this, but he was going to try. "Nick. What's wrong? Why are you back? Why the chair?"  
Nick sighed. "Charlie, it's nothing, just a bit of pain in my leg, that's all."

"Nick, for God's sake!" Zoe had stood up, anger suddenly palpable: "you have to tell people. It's not going away; it will still exist, even if no one knows about it! I can't- I can't handle this alone. You can't handle this alone. Charlie, Tess, they can help you. They will want to help you. Please." She moves and crouches in front of him, her hands on his legs, angry tears stinging her eyes, "Please."

"I don't want to be helped." His voice is quiet, unlike his usual authoritative tones.

"I know. But you need it." She touches his cheek gently, searching his eyes, "You need help."

His gaze drops, "Ok. Ok, Zoe." She stands and walks away, running her hands through her hair and roughly brushing away a couple of stray tears.

Nick watches her, feeling guilty that he is doing this to her again. But he can maybe make it easier for her by telling Charlie and Tess. Straightening himself, and looking Charlie straight in the eye, he tells them clearly.

"It's back. The tumour, it's come back."

**I know it's a short chapter, was watching Wimbledon ;) the next one's longer, I promise! xx**


	3. A Drink is Never Just a Drink

**Two weeks earlier**

"Zoe." Stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other in his trouser pocket, an eyebrow slightly raised. Her irritation at his laid back attitude was fighting some kind of internal battle with her relief at seeing him again. In the weeks spent searching, her mind had been running wild with all sorts of possibilities, but to see him safe in the flesh put her mind at rest.

She crossed the room swiftly and pulled him into a hug. No amount of unanswered emails and unexplained disappearances could really make much of a difference to the way she felt about him. Her irritation dissipating in his embrace, she held him close. She had missed him more than she was willing to admit.  
"Nick," their hands touched as they broke apart, sending shivers down her spine. Had they both felt it?

"Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to contact you for weeks, tried practically every hospital in Michigan, but no one knew where you were!"

"I've moved on, haven't been here for the past couple of months."

"Well then, where have you been?"

"Later, Zoe." He crossed the room to the window, admiring the view. "Nice room you've got here."

"Is it? It's costing me a fortune."

"Well, you're enjoying the considerably larger pay packet of a Clinical Lead now, you can't complain can you?"

"The money's great, but the paperwork…"

He chuckles lightly, "yes, seem to remember that never really was your thing." Turning to look at her, "would you like a drink tonight, Dr Hanna?", his words echoing those from years before.

His words rang bells of both recognition and excitement, and she consented, a flirtatious grin spreading across her face.

They sat in a restaurant overlooking a river; Zoe had no idea what it was. He looked at her over the soft, scented candles. He knew that face so well, and yet he never tired of tracing every contour of it with his eyes, studying every line, every blemish. He could see that she was worried: that little crease between her eyebrows. She tucked her hair behind her ears, nervously almost. He had forgotten that little habit of hers, she barely realised she was doing it anymore, but her fingers would brush her soft fringe out of the way at least once or twice a minute. Her hair was longer now and a little lighter. Her dress was new, he'd not seen it before, although it was similar to many others she owned: black with a low scooped neckline and tight around the hips, showing off her assets. Such subtle changes, but he noticed everything. He was fully aware of her beauty, not that he ever told her that.

He had been boyishly happy when he had discovered that she had been looking for him, flattered that she still cared. Now when their skin touched, the familiar fire would shoot from the point of contact, sending shivery shockwaves across his whole body. It suddenly hit him that there would never really be anyone else who made him feel the same way that Zoe Hanna did.

The real question was how did she feel about him? At any rate, he needed to say what he had come to say. But she interrupted the silence: "So, how are you? Since Yvonne…"

Nick, surprised she had brought it up, put his fork down, "it's getting easier. Her mother's still finding it hard, though."

"Oh. Anyone new on the scene?", she looks at him through her eyelashes, trying to glimpse a flicker of… what? Secrecy? Guilt?

But he chuckles lowly. "No one important." He looks her straight in the eye, and she feels tingles down her spine again. That old feeling. He made her feel important. No one else was capable of making her feel quite like that.

"Zoe." His decisive tone reached her, although she had no idea what he had decided. "There's something you should know. I- last month- Francis-", he stuttered over the words: there was no textbook, no step by step procedure for how to tell the woman you love that your brain tumour has come back, and this time, it's not going away again.  
"I don't quite know how to say it. It's messed me up a bit. I knew it was going to happen at some point, but I just didn't really know when." His hand had started to shake, so he put his glass down. She saw this, and looked back at his face, the realisation hitting her. The mention of Francis, the shaking hand- _Oh God, no_. _Not that._ "The- tumour has come back, Zoe. It's back. It's back."

She leant back, her head spinning. A part of her had been expecting this, knowing that it was only a matter of time before it returned and took him from her once more. But she hadn't let herself think about it. It was all too real now, though.

Her voice thick, "How long?"

"Not long. There's nothing they can do, really. Chemotherapy would give me a few more weeks, but I would spend most of that feeling pretty out of it. Surgery isn't an option. You can't save me this time."

_If only._ She took his hand in both of hers, feeling the tremble under her fingers. She brought it up to cup her face, like it had so many times before, not knowing what to say. She leant into his palm, feeling the strength and slight tremor beneath it.  
"You don't have to stay, Zoe, you can go back to Holby, I wouldn't blame you. Please don't feel obliged to-" She silenced him with a look.

"No. I'm not running away again. I'll stay with you. I want to stay with you."

They walked together, hand in hand. Savouring the calm of the stars dancing on the river, teasing the soft waves, they walked in silence. The closer they got to the hotel, the slower they walked, not wanting to disrupt this golden moment they shared. Neither of them knew if Nick's last day would be tomorrow, or in six months' time. Neither of them knew how the other felt. But neither of them wanted to let go.


	4. With Us

Charlie balked. "Oh, Nick. Oh, Nick, I'm so sorry." He looked shocked, although pity was the predominate emotion on his face. Nick drank his coffee: pity was what he had wanted to avoid. He couldn't stand people looking at him when they thought he didn't know, thinking him weak, feeling sorry for him. "How long have you known?"

"A few weeks." Tess brought the coffee over, and sat down next to Charlie. "Nick. If there is anything that you need, that either of you need," she looked to Zoe, who was facing away from them, "you can always come to us. Day, night, at work, at home, you will have us to help."

"Thank you, Tess. That's much appreciated. Right, Zoe?" He turned to her, "Zoe?"

She half turned around, whispered "sorry", and rushed out the room. The remaining three looked at each other. Nick made to go after her, but Tess stopped him: "no, I'll go, Nick", and she followed her friend outside.

...

She found her outside in her regular spot below the "no smoking" sign, lighting up a cigarette. It had always been her weakness, the number of people she saw with COPD or lung cancer because of smoking should have put her off, but she needed a way to let go: ED work was incredibly stressful.

"Zoe," Tess put her hand on her arm, but Zoe leant forward, put her arms round her neck and hugged her. This was so out of character; she rarely displayed public emotion, and was irritated by those who did, so much so that Tess was deeply concerned.

"He's dying, Tess," and tears began to spill thick and fast down her cheeks. She held on to her as if for dear life, like she was clinging to a life raft in a raging storm, crying for the first time in months. Fear, grief, love, anger, frustration flew down her cheeks like they were caught in the wind: this had stayed bottled up for days. She knew she loved Nick, had always loved Nick, although her feelings had lain dormant at times. And she wanted to tell him, wanted more than anything to hold him like she used to, to kiss him and show him how she felt, but she was scared of opening up to him. She knew that if she lay herself on the line, she was going to get hurt either way.

Embarrassed, she pulled herself away and wiped her cheeks with one hand, succeeding only in smudging her make up all over her face.

"I'm just watching him fade away, Tess. It takes a piece of him every day. He can barely walk without assistance now, he gets the shakes so badly in his feet, and his hands are barely under his own control. Sometimes he can't say words properly and he gets so angry and frustrated, but he hates it when I try and help him. He'll spend hours in the bathroom vomiting uncontrollably, and not be able to speak because his throat's so raw. He looks so helpless sometimes. He stares into space for ages, but he won't remember what he was thinking about. And then I catch him looking at me, and he looks so- wrong. His face all twisted and muscles tight, and I can't do anything to stop it." She looked upwards, blinked violently to deter another cascade of tears and drew heavily on her cigarette, her tired frame leaning against the wall.

"Oh, Zoe. He seemed quite- upbeat earlier," Tess struggled to find words that will make any attempt at filling the hole of pain she could see that the other woman carried.

"He can put on an act just like I can, Tess. He can smile and brush it off, act like he's just tired, but I've seen him with his guard down." She screwed her eyes tight at thought of it. "He's in so much pain. And he's scared, too, not that he'll admit it." She looked Tess in the eye, her voice wavering again: "I'm scared."

"Does he know how you feel, Zoe?" Tess could see right through Zoe. She knew she loved him, and also knew that Nick loved her, nothing could have been more obvious to anyone except, apparently, themselves.

"What- I don't-" But she realised it would be futile to try and deny it, and resigned herself to the inevitable: "no."

"You need to tell him. Keeping it bottled up is only going to make things harder between you, and it will be harder for him to let you help."

"I know, I know. I will tell him. I will."

**I know there wasn't much Zick in this chapter, but there's a big one coming up :)**** xx**


	5. Nobody Does it Better

**When I was writing this chapter, I had this one song in my head, so I thought I'd share it with you as well? You don't have to listen to it at all, I know it's weird trying to listen to music at the same time as reading, but if you wanted to, then Nobody Does it Better by Carly Simon just seems to sum Nick up... It's from a James Bond film as well, which somehow seemed appropriate! (I would post the link in here, but it won't let me)  
Enjoy :) xx**

They sat on the sofa together in Nick's old flat, which he had rented out whilst he'd been away: he'd always mean to return to Holby. He had lived with Anton Meyer whilst in Michigan, and after his diagnosis had travelled parts of America, trying to fit as much as he could into the short time he had left, but when he had heard about Zoe trying to find him, he'd come straight back to her. The couple had spent the last few days in the flat, Zoe only leaving him to go home for clothes, or to nip out for the occasional fag.

Her head was resting on his shoulder. He turned and surreptitiously smelt her hair. If he could bottle up the smell of Zoe Hanna's hair, he would. They were watching the sun set over Holby. The outline of the familiar skyline was blurred with the dying light, the sun just kissing the tops of buildings. Sunset syndrome. That was it. Not being able to close your eyes and fall asleep, even after the sun had closed his. He was tired now, physically, emotionally, and yet he knew that however hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to fall. That was ok, though. He could stay here with Zoe forever.

"What are you thinking?" Her low voice broke the silence.

"I'm thinking that I could stay here forever," he answered, truthfully.

She pushed herself further into his chest, "me too."

They sat there for a while, in a comfortable silence, drinking each other in.

"Nick," she said suddenly, twisting to face him, "I need to tell you something."

"Yes?"

"I've wanted to tell you for a while-well, not really a while- it just feels like quite a long time. When you found me in that hotel room, I had been looking for you for weeks, because I wanted to see you. Because- I missed you. And because I think- I wanted to tell you something- tell you this."

Knowing what's coming, he stopped her- "Zoe, you don't have to-"

"Yes. I do. I need to say it out loud, and you can say whatever you want, but please- let me say this." She took a deep breath. Took the plunge. "I love you. I- I know that I've messed things up in the past, and it's not great timing-" He cut her off by putting his hand on her cheek. He gently brushed the hair out of her eyes and gazed into them.

"Zoe. You beautiful, wonderful-" and, as if he had forgotten that he was still talking, he planted a soft kiss on her lips. "I love you." Starting softly and slowly, they lost themselves in their embrace, their mouths and hands doing all the talking for them now.

She had missed this, the feel of his body so close to hers, the way his kisses trailed her collarbones and neck, but always returned home to her lips. She traced his body with her fingers, and although slimmer, his shape was still so familiar to her, having explored it a hundred times. She let him take over, her mind emptying of everything apart from him.

He couldn't get enough of her, breathing her in like a drug. He hadn't felt this close to anyone for years. Pulling her closer to him, he kissed her passionately, allowing her to fill his senses.

If this wasn't living, he didn't know what was.

...

They had moved into the bed at some point during the night, although neither of them could pinpoint exactly when it was. They lay there together peacefully now, Zoe leaning on his chest, one of his arms holding her close, and the other stroking her hair. They had slept intermittently, his shakes would invariably wake them both up, but now, watching the sunrise through the bedroom window, it was as if nothing could touch them. In this bubble, there was no tumour, nothing that could threaten this perfect moment they shared, nothing to hurt either of them.  
The silence swirled around them. But it was no awkward silence, more a comfortable understanding. They neither of them felt that they needed to break it, neither of them wanted to- didn't want to spoil this.

Eventually, however, the world had to start turning again. She dragged herself away for a shower, which, although he wanted to join, would have been difficult to manoeuvre with a wheelchair. He lay in bed for a while longer, thinking on his mortality. How ironic that whilst his life was now dwindling away like the last few grains in an hourglass, he should find complete happiness with someone with whom previous attempts at love had failed. Why now, that he had so little time left, had life thrown them together again, letting them fall for each other harder and faster than before, only for it to be cruelly snatched away. He was so close now- to paradise and to death. Maybe this was a preliminary to heaven. Or maybe it was one last joke before hell.

His musings were interrupted by Zoe returning. She looked tired and a bit bedraggled, hair ruffled by the water, but she also looked less stressed than she had for days. He watched her get dressed, following her every move with his eyes, never letting her leave his line of vision. How could he have let her go? Why hadn't he made the most of every second they could have had together?  
No. He could spend all the time he had left on this earth reproaching himself for all the mistakes he had made, or he could spend it with her.

She knew that he was watching her, could feel his gaze burning into her skin. She smiled to herself, feeling flattered, and ever so slightly self-conscious. Enjoying the attention, she made every movement a show: stretching to her full height to put her shirt on slowly, allowing him to see every inch of her.

"Show-off" he teased her.

"I can stop, if you like," she retorted, knowing that he didn't want her to stop at all.

"I'd rather you were taking them off, instead of putting them on,"

She smirked, pulling her tights on slowly, extending each leg in turn. He sat up and pulled himself round slowly and painstakingly. Zoe could see him in pain, but knew that he'd hate it if she helped him.

"Come here," he beckoned her over. She walked towards him, until she was standing between his legs. He began unbuttoning her shirt, his hands shaking and taking longer than he would have wanted, but he persevered until her shirt hung open. She leaned forwards to kiss him, but he pulled her even closer so that they both collapsed backwards onto the bed, returning to the places they had visited last night, and so often before then.


	6. Coffee

**Thank you all so much for your reviews/ comments, they make writing so much easier! xx**

"Black, one sugar?"

"Well remembered, Charlie." Charlie had invited Nick into his office whilst Zoe had been called in for a tricky patient on a particularly busy Friday evening at the ED, and they were catching up, not having spoken since Nick had given Charlie the bad news.

"If I had a pound coin for every time I made you a cup of coffee, Nick, I would no longer be a nurse."

"And rob this ED of the talents of- Charlie Fairhead? Was I really that bad?"

"There have been worse. Adam was pretty bad. Linda. And I have never known anyone to drink more coffee than Zoe."

Nick smiled, "she still drinks it like water."

"How is she coping?"

"Not great. She hates- watching me when I'm- ill. I can see her looking at me sometimes, and it's like- it's like she doesn't see _me_ anymore."

"But it's good that you have someone there with you."

"Oh, I know, Charlie. I wouldn't want- her not to be there. She is being wonderful, but it's just hard- for us both."

"And how are you coping?" Charlie looks his friend straight in the eye. Nick had never really been one for opening up and bearing his soul, he was too proud, but Charlie had always been able to read Nick's face, and could see that this was difficult for him.

Nick paused, struggling to find the words. "Sometimes- I forget- I can just laugh at the TV or read the paper- and feel normal. But then I'll try and change the channel or turn the page, and my hand- is shaking too badly so that I can't do it. And it's so frustrating- I'm telling my body what to do, but it's just not listening to me."

"What sort of medication are you on? Can't they control some of it for you?"

"They're stopping the fits from happening, but they can't keep all the symptoms in check, unless I'm strapped to a machine twenty-four seven in an induced coma."

"What's going to happen- forgive me- when it gets too much for you and Zoe to cope with?" Charlie felt guilty for bringing it up, but he wanted to make sure that they had planned it out.

"We'll cope- for as long as we can, and then I guess, some hospice." Charlie looked surprised, he hadn't expected Nick's last days to be so conventionally spent in a hospice, hadn't thought it would have been Nick's scene.

Nick saw Charlie's shock: "I know, it wasn't what I had planned, but I want to be with Zoe, and it's the only way; I don't want her to be my carer. She told me once that she can't do death in her personal life, because she does it at work. And here I come, messing it all up again."

"Nick, she loves you. Anyone can see that. Since you've gone, she's missed you more than she would ever let on- I've caught her sometimes looking at that photo she has of you both, and although she would never ever tell anyone, she's found it really hard to cope without you, professionally and personally. Of course this is hard for her, but she seems- whole again now. With you, she's different. I promise you, Nick, she's not doing this out of pity or guilt, she's in this until the end, and because she wants to."

Nick would have said something in response, but the lump in his throat left him stuck in silence, from which Charlie looked away, smiling sadly.

...

They were sitting outside the ED on one of the benches in the "peace garden"- not particularly peaceful when a noisy flashing ambulance raced past every ten minutes. Nick watched the ED doors as paramedics, nurses, doctors, patients, visitors bustled in and out. He had been so proud of that place; had never been happier at work than when he was in there, treating and teaching. When he had thought that he was dying, it was going to be his legacy: he hadn't wanted to be known as "the doctor with the brain tumour", but as the man who had driven the Holby Emergency Department to the best in the country. Of course, there had been another legacy that he had wanted. But that had been snatched away from him. He knew that he needed to clear the air about it: he wanted her to know that although it had taken him a while, he had forgiven her for what had happened, and he barely thought of it anymore. He didn't want to leave her feeling guilty.

"Why did you do it, Zoe?"

"Why did I do what?" she replied absentmindedly: she had his hand in both of hers and was tracing the lines in his palm with her fingers as if she was learning it by heart. She hated it when she couldn't touch him, always wanted to keep him within reaching distance like she was tethered to him, scared that he'd slip away.

"Why did you pretend that you were pregnant?"

Shocked, she looked up at him: she hadn't been expecting that.

"It- was difficult. I wanted to be pregnant, I wanted to give you what you wanted so desperately, I think- I convinced myself I was pregnant for a while. But I can't. Can't have children, I mean. I'm infertile, that's why was taking those drugs, to improve my chances. But it didn't work. Obviously. One in four. I didn't want to lie to you Nick, I never wanted to hurt you or lead you on, you just assumed, and then you proposed, and it just all got so out of hand-" The sobs in her throat interrupted her as she remembered.

"Hey, it's OK." She leant into his chest as he put his arms around her and held her close to him, "I understand. Neither of us handled it very well- I think we were both a little too- tied up in it all- a bit too drunk probably. I don't blame you anymore, I just- I just wanted to get it all out in the open- I didn't want you to think that I resented you for it."

On hearing the past tense, "resented", Zoe lets out a small sob and he strokes her hair, kissing the top of her head.

They were both so lost in the moment that they didn't hear Connie approaching.

"Sorry, Zoe, are you ready?" Zoe extracted herself from Nick's arms, and, wiping her tears away, met Connie's eyes.

"I- are you OK, Zoe?" She had just noticed Zoe's state and Nick's reluctance to let go of her.

"Yes, Connie, absolutely perfect. What was it you wanted?"

She so obviously didn't want to talk about it that Connie got straight to the point: "you're late for our meeting, about your return to work. Are you planning on coming back anytime soon?"

"Yes, at some point, Connie, but I'm a bit- tied up at the minute. I can come in and do the odd bit of paperwork, but I can't come back full time for the next few months. Sorry."

"Fine. Come see me when you're ready." Walking away, Connie was surprised, having expected Zoe to bite her hand off at the offer of her old job back. She had never seen Zoe cry before. She knew that her and Nick had had some kind of "past", but hadn't been aware that they were still together now, and had no idea what had upset them both. It felt a bit weird, seeing Nick and Zoe together, like two separate worlds were colliding. Brushing it off, she returned to her office, back to the mountain of paperwork, sixteen unread emails and three missed calls from Guy Self.

"So no one knows about- it" Nick was pleased that Tess and Charlie hadn't told anyone- he didn't want everyone to start treating him like a bomb about to explode.

"Apparently not," she said, standing. "Come on, Mr Jordan, let's go home."


	7. Stay With Me

"You're an awful driver, Zoe," he complained as he hung onto the seat which was swerving sickeningly from side to side with the car.

"Excuse me? I passed my test first time, actually."

"Yeah? And how long ago was that?"

"Err- it was more recent than yours probably. And the instructor said that I was the best driver he had passed all year."

"I didn't realise you could take tests- on New Years' Day!"

Sarcastically, "Oh ha ha."

She turned without slowing down, and he swung to the side violently, "Christ, Zoe, will you please slow down?"

Sighing, she released her hold on the accelerator and the speed of the car dropped.

"Thank you," he relaxed back into the chair and let go of the seat, where his knuckles had turned white with the sheer force of holding on. He leant against the window, watching the familiar streets sweep by, dense city life fading into trees and fields as they drove away from Holby and towards the small town on the outskirts where Zoe lived. Pulling into the drive of her block of flats, Nick breathed a sigh of relief. He felt like he had been on a rollercoaster.

The car stationery, she turned to look at him. "What do you want for dinner? Chinese? Italian?"

"You mean you're not cooking?" He was joking- she was a horrible cook.

"I can, if you really want to risk food poisoning. Or salad."

Faking a shudder, "I doubt you could even- manage a salad."

"What is this? Insult Zoe Day?"

"What? Can't you take it?"

She chuckled softly. "There are other things I'd rather be doing."

Such as?"

"I couldn't possibly say,"

He rolled his eyes at her coyness. "Come on, let's get this food, then."

...

Her apartment was more difficult: although it wasn't on the top floor like Nick's, the lift was unreliable and there was a step up to her front door, but they needed a change of scene. They were sitting at the table, having finished their curry, and sharing their second bottle of wine. Nick wasn't supposed to be drinking with the medication he was on, but he wasn't going to let this tumour take over every part of his life.

"Nice wine. That's cranberry? And a hint of- cherry. I'm guessing a Pinot Noir, from... Burgundy?"

She checked the bottle, "quite the connoisseur, eh? Gold star for Mr Jordan."

"I must have attended a hundred wine-tasting parties in Michigan. Anton kept being invited, and he never really wanted to go, so I went instead."

"Does Anton know? About- what's happening?"

Sighing, "no. He thinks I've gone to Japan on some- research post." Seeing her look of disapproval, he justifies himself: "he wouldn't want to know. It's better this way, honestly."

"And what about other people? Have you contacted Adam? Kieron? Do you really want them to suddenly get a call out of the blue and find out that you'd gone without them knowing?"

"Better that than the "I'm dying" conversation. I know, it's not exactly ideal, but none of this is, Zoe. I'm not going to go through my telephone book and cross names off a list once I've given them the bad news. Apart from anything else, there aren't that many people who'd want to know."

She stands up, irritated by his pride: "oh, stop playing the martyr, Nick. Fine, I can't make you tell anyone. But you should at least tell your mum. I know you're not really close anymore, but she needs-"

Frustrated, "Will you just leave it, Zoe. I'll do what I want."

The light atmosphere of a few minutes before had dissipated quickly. She sighed and turned away, "Fine. It's your life."

Suddenly angry, his voice raised, "well that's just it, isn't it. It's not my life, not any more. It's this tumour's life. They're the same thing. Anything I do, say, feel, it's all affected by this- this thing in my head. It's taking my mobility, my words, my memories, I can't- I can't-" His voice was shaking, and he was frustratedly hitting his head with the palm of his hand, tears beginning to spill over his eyes. She walked back to him, and took hold of his hand to stop him from hurting himself, shocked at seeing him so fragile.

"This- the chair, the meds, the tumour- it's not me, Zoe, it's not me-" he collapsed into sobs, gesturing angrily towards the wheelchair in the corner with his free hand.

"I know, Nick, I know," she knelt down before him, and cupped his face with her hands, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. Tears were threatening to fall from her own eyes. What could she say to make it better? It was clear that Nick was not coping, and she wanted to make him feel better, wanted to stop him from hurting, but there was nothing she could say to help. It was all so useless.

...

They lay together in the bed. Nick, for once, had fallen asleep first, and Zoe was watching him sleep, propped up on one elbow. His eyes were closed, his lashes brushing his cheeks, and flickering ever so slightly as he dreamed. She watched his chest rise and fall rhythmically, gentle snores occasionally escaping from his slightly parted mouth. Moving herself forwards, she leant her head on his chest, listening to his determined heart beating away steadily. How was she supposed to lie in this bed when he'd gone? She'd slept alone in her own bed thousands of times before, but now that Nick had come back to it, it seemed wrong her being there alone now. The idea of not going to sleep without him near her, of not being able to feel his presence whilst she slept, of waking up to empty sheets, made her shiver. She couldn't bear the idea of his absence.

"Please don't leave me," she whispered softly, lifting her head to gaze into his face, "stay with me."


	8. We Have All the Time in the World

**Again, I had another song in my head whilst writing this: the cover of We Have All the Time in the World by Py, which although is about having lots of time, when Nick and Zoe don't have very much, just seemed to weirdly fit...  
****Thanks for reading xx **

Over the last few weeks, he had deteriorated rapidly. His condition had remained pretty stable in the wheelchair for more than a month, so that Zoe had almost gotten used to it, almost convinced herself that this was how it would be forever.

But he'd had a fit in the middle of the night that no one could have prevented, and it had left him without any feeling in his legs at all. Other movements were spasmodic and laborious and barely controlled and his speech was getting worse. Zoe had had to (reluctantly) allow him to be taken to a hospice where she could be given some respite- caring for Nick full time had left her exhausted.

He spent most of the time sleeping, often restlessly, his body so weary and strained. She spent most of the time in the chair next to his bed, or lying with him in it. Anyone who entered the room, nurses or doctors, or visitors, (although they had been rare, Zoe knew that Nick wouldn't have wanted most people to see him so helpless) had started off telling Zoe to "go home, get some sleep", but they had quickly come to the realisation that she would only leave for the occasional shower, and would always be back within the hour. She'd started smoking out the window, much to the disapproval of the nurses, although they had stopped reprimanding her, realising it was completely useless. She was on almost forty a day now: there was very little to do in that room, plus she wasn't exactly eating her three meals a day, and cigarettes seemed to be a good substitute.

The end was so near now, they could both feel it, the time slipping through their fingers like sand. Anyone who entered the room could feel that it was different in there. Time wasn't really moving at the same speed as it was outside: either racing away uncontrollably so that some days passed like hours, or dragging reluctantly like an unwilling dog pulling against its owner. People tended not to stay for very long, they felt as if they were intruding uninvited on a private party. Some party.

Zoe's mother had made a surprise visit on their third day in the hospice, although that had been short-lived. She had been shocked to see her strong, capable daughter so fragile and broken but hadn't really known what to say: they only really spoke when Zoe dutifully rang on Sunday evenings, and those strained conversations about the weather and her other children were not enough to help her know what to say now, at the bedside of the man her daughter loved, whom she herself had only met once, by chance.

Charlie had been a couple of times, had brought Zoe clothes and coffee and food, and Nick well wishes from the staff. They had been told what was happening, that Mr Jordan was dying in hospital, that it was unadvisable to visit, but if they needed anyone to talk to, Connie and Tess' doors were always open, or there was the hospital counsellor upstairs. Almost everyone had asked Charlie to pass on messages, although they had all struggled with what to say. What could you say? "Get well soon?"

...

It was late afternoon. Zoe was lying on the bed next to Nick: it was sufficiently large to allow them both to fit, but not big enough for her to properly relax next to him, meaning that she constantly felt like she was going to fall off. She was nestled in front of him, her legs wrapped round his, his hands round her waist. She had put them there a few hours ago: he had lain in a morphine-induced stupor for the whole day, but she had wanted to feel closer to him. Her eyes open and staring into the wall, seeing nothing. They had spent hours like this over the past few days, Zoe almost convincing herself that it was her real, awake Nick that was holding her close.

The door opened, making her jump. Francis, another consultant and a nurse entered, closing the door behind. Usually she wouldn't have moved unless it had been a nurse wanting to change or wash him, and she would normally ask to do that herself anyway, but because there were three of them, each wearing identical facial expressions of pity, she dragged herself up: removing Nick's arms and disentangling their legs. Sitting on the bed next to him, she checked he was still sleeping and looked at the three intruders quizzically.

Francis spoke. Even though she had known Zoe for years, she still insisted on calling her Dr Hanna. Zoe hated that; the whole thing seemed so impersonal; like the staff were performing her some kind of service, like she demanded the ultimate respect because she was watching her lover die.

"Dr Hanna, there have been significant changes in Nick's condition. In the last few days, the tumour has grown more than we would have liked, and the cancer has spread to his spine. It's- it's unlikely that he'll last much longer."

"How much time?" her voice was hoarse: she had barely spoken for days.

"Dr Hanna, as you know, we can't give an accurate-"

"How. Much. Time?" Zoe was unafraid of offending the other woman, and frustrated with being faced with the same textbook phrase that she herself had handed out to so many people. If only she had known how much of slap in the face it was.

Reluctantly, "24 hours. At best."

Used to having to accept difficult information now, and knowing that it was much easier to take the news quietly, for both her, and those who had to give it, Zoe nodded. "Thank you, Francis. For everything you- you've done."

"Dr Hanna, Nick's an old friend of mine, I wouldn't have left him. I'm just so sorry that I couldn't- we couldn't do more." Zoe didn't reply; worried that if she opened her mouth, she would scream and never stop.

Sensing that she wanted to be alone, Francis enquired as to whether they wanted anything, and then left them be. The other two, who hadn't said a word the whole time they had been in the room, followed, stiffly and silently as if leaving a funeral.

She sat there, staring into his face. 24 hours. A day. That was all she had with left him.

Suddenly decisive, she ripped back the sheet that had been covering him, pulled out the sensors and drips and dragged the wheelchair over. Heaving him into it, still unconscious, she checked his pulse quickly, making sure that his heart was still beating. She took him to the door, checked the corridor was clear, and wheeled him away from the room where time played tricks with your head.

She knew that she was playing with fire. Removing him from the hospital would significantly reduce his life expectancy: his body was still performing the very vital functions, if a little unreliably, but if he had another fit or his heart stopped when he wasn't attached to the monitors, he would die. But it was either twenty four hours with a fading echo of Nick Jordan in that room, or three hours with the real him in the real world.

**I am not a doctor, and so I'm afraid that I don't know if what I am describing with Nick's tumour is realistic, I suspect that it's not. In which case, I am so sorry for any offence that I may have caused, I have written what would fit best with the story, so that Nick and Zoe would get a proper goodbye, which I realise may not be the case for many other people. I have used perhaps too much artistic licence, which I really hope does not upset anyone.**


	9. Sunset Syndrome

**Again, if the medical details in this story are inaccurate and have caused offence, I can only apologize.  
Thank you everyone who has been so lovely, on Twitter and on reviews, you're all so sweet :)  
Also I would advise against reading this if you are in a good mood. It is quite sad. **

Only one nurse had seen them leave, but she had been the one who had come in with Francis so she had known Zoe and Nick's situation, and had let them go: partly reluctant to argue with such a determined woman, and partly because for some reason she didn't want this man to die in a hospital bed. She had taken the wheelchair back to the room and put up the "do not disturb" notice on the door so that no one would realise they had gone.

Zoe drove. Fast. Nick was in the passenger seat, lying motionless apart from the jerks of the car as she took corners and speed bumps too quickly, although his eyes were flickering open. Without the constant supply of painkillers and sedatives, he was slowly rising to consciousness. The first thing he registered was pain. Simultaneously specific pain in various places: his spine, his feet, his shoulders, his neck, and a general, all-encompassing deep ache. The second thing he registered was that he was in a car that smelled of stale cigarettes and air freshener. The third thing he registered was Zoe.

Glancing over at him and realising he was awake, she put on an extra burst of speed, willing the car to go faster.

"So you've finally decided to join us, Mr Jordan," she joked.

"Where are- where- we- going-" his speech, slurred by the tumour and the drugs, was barely understandable. But she knew him.

"Wait and see" she replied with that familiar flirtatious half smile that had touched her face so often in his presence.

...

It was quiet for a Friday evening, only three people in the waiting room, so when she burst through the ED doors, the few people in reception turned to see what was happening.

"Noel, I need Charlie," her authority returning to her as she walked through those doors, her ability to command her staff meaning that Noel automatically replied.

"He's in cubicles, Zoe, what's happening?"

Ignoring him, or, rather, not realising he had said anything other than what she needed to hear, she threw open the doors to cubicles and called out for Charlie.

"Zoe, what is it?"

"Charlie, I need your help. I need you to help me." She looked so desperate, so frenzied, that he took her arm, "what's happened?"

"Not enough time to explain, I need you to get a wheelchair to the car park now."

...

They sat together, a wall propping Nick up, who was now almost fully conscious, although still having difficulties coordinating his muscle movements. Charlie had just left them, having said an emotional goodbye. The rest of the staff were by now collected downstairs in reception, Noel having told everyone that Zoe had taken Nick from the hospice and they were now on the roof.

"This- this is the end- the end, Zoe," he broke the silence. He had been dreading this moment for years, since he had first been diagnosed, always knowing that the tumour would kill him. He had always worried about how it would happen: suddenly drop in a shopping centre, or finally slip away in his sleep in a hospital, or maybe he would end it before it could end him. But this was near on perfect: watching the sunset over Holby, his face stinging slightly with the fresh air, his ED just metres below, and his Zoe by his side.

She nodded slowly. "This is the end. Sorry, I sort of abducted you. I didn't want you to just fade away. I wanted to show you the sunset one more time."

"Tha- thank you. It's beautiful." It was. The soft evening glow of the sun was teasing rooftops and telephone lines as it sank. The gentle wind kept the horizon moving as trees swayed in synchrony with one another, birds flitting in and out of the reach of the sun. He had never seen the sunset from this angle before. Everything looked out of shape from a different perspective: the sun seemed to be below him, as if he had risen above it.

He looked down at the woman who was leaning gently on his shoulder. His feeling of calm evaporated, replaced by a sudden blind panic: he was never going to be able to see her again, never going to be able to touch her again. This was it, his last few moments with her. He breathed in deeply. He'd told her once that she smelled of a mixture of a girls' locker room and a fried breakfast. Whatever it was, he was glad that her scent was going to be the last one that he knew. His eyes devoured her, taking in everything, even though he could have drawn her from memory, he knew her so well. Her hands were resting on his leg, her rings still circling her slim fingers. Her eyes were pointed towards the horizon, yearning, eyelashes just tickling her brow-bone. Her lips were slightly parted, he could see them shudder slightly as she breathed in and out. He had kissed those lips thousands of times, could kiss them a thousand more times, and it would never be enough. He could taste them now. The desire to lean forward, take her face in his hands and kiss her overwhelmed him, although he couldn't do anything about it. Frustrated, willing his limbs to listen to his brain, he moaned with longing.

She turned and looked at him, and as if she had read his mind, she turned her face upwards and pressed her lips to his. At first gentle as she didn't want to hurt him, but then more passionate as she realised that he wanted it just as much as she did. This moment, this familiar moment seemed to last forever, and was yet too short. As salt tears mingled with their lips, they broke apart.

Last kiss. How bittersweet.


	10. Time is such a Hungry Beast

**If you wanted to listen to a song in this chapter, I literally had Waltz for Pony by BOY on repeat whilst writing this...  
Hope you enjoy it- although it is, again, quite sad. xx**

Looking at him now was like looking at a cartoon version of Mr Jordan. He had the same arched eyebrows and determined glare as always, but the eyes were unfocussed and hazy. His once strong stature was still visible even as he leaned against the wall, but he was slimmer now and the way he sat seemed less purposeful: more like he had been dropped. She knew how he hated this, hated not being in control. When he had gone into the ED just weeks ago in his wheelchair, he had acted as if he was fine, but she knew that his pride was hurting. Only his love for those people and that place could have brought him in there looking so vulnerable. Maybe no one else would have been able to recognise Nick in this man who sat there now, but she could still see him.

A sudden, suffocating wave of emotion crashed over her. How was she supposed to live without him? Even when he had been in Michigan and she had been in Holby, he had been in so many of her thoughts. Now, he was the only reason she was getting up every day. Her love for medicine, her love for the ED all paled in comparison to her love for him. Even as a dying man, he had made her laugh harder, cry harder, fall harder than anyone else ever had. She had never felt more confident, more loved, more alive than the times when she was with him, and even in his dying moments, she felt so real, so present in his company. Life after him was going to seem pale in comparison to the glorious times she had spent with him. To return to the mundane seemed impossible.

"Zoe?" his voice sounded clearer and more composed than it had before. She looked at him, her hands reaching out to cup his face, like he had so many times to her.

"Nick?"

"I never said- said thank you." Answering her inquisitive glance, "you saved my life, Zoe."

"Nick, you don't have to thank me. I wish I could-"

"Don't Zoe. You can't." He hung his head. She held him firmly, and brought his gaze to meet hers.

"I know. But I would do all it all again in a heartbeat." She kissed his forehead softly and ran her thumb over his bottom lip.

…

It was getting darker: they had only been there for half an hour, but the sky had been clear, so the sun had set quickly and stars were beginning to emerge. They were lying down now, she was curled up with her head on his chest, his hands encircling her like a life buoy. As they lay there listening to the gentle hum of the building's electricity, the cars below and the night birds' mournful songs, they were both very aware of the large clock that they had both carried since that day in Michigan. It seemed to be ticking down the seconds like a drum. They both had more they wanted to say and yet were both conscious of the fact that anything they said could be their last words to each other. But this silence had been stretching for too long.

"If we were in a movie, you'd be telling me the names of all the stars right now, Nick."

"Do you want me to? I'd say "I'll be- up there soon. In the stars""

Chuckling, although tears were sparkling at the corners of her eyes, she replied "too cheesy. If you say that now, I'll give you a slap."

"I wouldn't dare. I know better- than to incite- the- the wrath of Zoe Hanna." He grinned widely, knowing that she was, too.

Suddenly serious, "I don't want to go, Zoe," he whispered. She could almost taste his fear, it was emanating from him in waves. She screwed her eyes up tight. _I don't want you to go, either._

"I know." She reached out and took his hand in hers and held it tight.

"You won't- forget me?" His vanity was still obvious, even in his dying moments. It was so typical, so predictably Nick Jordan that she laughed. The slightly wild noise seemed to echo, although there was nothing against which it could echo, and hung in the air, so much at contrast with the tears and the grief that smothered them.

"As if anyone could forget you, Nick."

They held one another tightly, as if they would never let go. Despite the inevitable tragedy of their situation, they both felt a sense of calm in that moment: nothing else could touch them now. Afterwards, that was a different chapter, they would face whatever they each had to face in time, alone, but with the memory of these last few weeks burning bright. As long as they had this moment together, could feel the safety of one another's embrace just once more.

"Will you- will you be OK?" he asked her.

She paused. _Of course not. _"I'll be fine, Nick. I've got Tess, Charlie, Linda. Hell, I might even go and see my mother."

"Heaven forbid."

She slapped his hand gently. "Oi, you."

"You will be OK. You're strong."

She nodded slightly through her tears and squeezed his hand. They always say that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. She didn't know what was going through his mind, but memories were flying through her head like birds. Just snippets: like stills of a film, but as she mentally reached out to hold them close, they would flit away. _"A drink is never just a drink."_ "_My lovely suits. They're bespoke." "I'm sorry that Matt couldn't make you happy." "I want to go to Rome." "one of the most chaotic and scatterbrained individuals." _Eventually she gave up trying to keep them close, and let herself sink into the present, into his arms. That was, surely, all that mattered.

His time was up. That from which he had been running, from which everyone is running, was standing over him, its shadow encroaching without needing to hide now. Suddenly, every part of his brain, every memory, feeling and thought seemed to be activated. It was like they were all fighting for attention, like his brain was trying to fit in every possible emotion before it could no longer feel, but it felt like his head was going to explode. Jealousy, curiosity, contentedness, fear, loneliness, all at once- faces flashing before his eyes: Zoe, Charlie, Yvonne, Zoe, Kieron, Tess, Zoe, Zoe, Zoe. There was only thing he wanted to feel, only one face he wanted to see. His Zoe. He took a deep breath, trying to say this clearly and steadily.

"I love you, Zoe. More than I've- more than anyone. I'm so happy- that it's you." His voice broke over the words.

"I love you. And I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world."

.

If he had been attached to a machine, she could have heard him die. Heard the long, loud, high-pitched sound that indicated that his heart had stopped beating. But as she lay on his chest, it was deadly quiet. She lay there, listening to the empty silence of his ribcage. She could feel her own blood pumping in her ear where she lay as her heart beat furiously. But his remained still and silent and broken.


	11. Ghost

She was still clutching his hand desperately, even though the force of his fingers was no longer returning the pressure. It was very dark on the roof now, and without clouds, the frosty night was biting her skin and turning his hands cold.

"Zoe,"

"No, no, I'm not leaving him"

"Zoe, come on now, come with me, they're here,"

"NO, I'm not leaving him, don't let them take him, Charlie, please don't let them take him,"

"We have to. I'm sorry, Zoe, but you can't stay here, he needs to go. He needs to go now."

She let go eventually, collapsing back against the wall as they wheeled him away on a trolley, to the lift and out of sight. She'd never see his face again. As her legs gave way, she slid slowly down the wall, her head in her hands and shaking with gut-wrenching sobs.

Charlie, unsure what to do, put an awkward hand on her shoulder. He had known Zoe for years, seen her through highs and lows, seen her sober, drunk, happy, miserable, but never had he seen her like this. She was a strong woman, pragmatic, down to earth, never hysterical or flighty, and so to see her so defenceless was a bit overwhelming. He could deal with bereaved relatives of patients he barely knew, could feed them textbook phrases with enough forced sympathy to make it sound like he understood, but there was no way that Zoe would swallow those empty platitudes. There was nothing he could say that would even begin to help her now.

"Zoe- come on. Let's go inside." He helped her to her feet and, realising how weak and unsteady she was, supported her round the waist and slowly walked her to the door where they waited for the lift to return.

They returned to the ground slowly and noisily, the shaft creaking and grunting as it made the long journey back down.

He had been in this lift just seconds ago. She felt like he was still here, in the lift somewhere, but she couldn't see him, like he was a ghost. It was like they were in parallel universes that were lying next to each other; so close, and yet so far. She reached her hand out slightly, desperately, as if she could maybe feel him in front of her, but it was all too obvious that she was alone now.

**Thank you for reading, and to those who have left such lovely comments, you've all been ever so kind.**

**I have written another chapter, a sort of "three months on" for Zoe, so that it doesn't end too sadly for her, but I'm still not sure if I should post it or leave it as it is. If you have a second, a review would be lovely, to let me know what you think... Xxx**


	12. Legacy

**Three months later**

The shock hit Zoe four weeks after he died. Three months- it had taken just three months to turn her life upside down, during which she had felt all the extremes of some sort of emotional rainbow. Since she had found him in Michigan, she had barely had a second to herself to let things sink in, and so after the whirlwind of his illness, his death, and the funeral had died down, everything had come crashing down on her all at once. The realisation that Nick Jordan was dead broke through the walls of numbness that had encompassed her since that night on the roof, the first real feeling that she had experienced in a while, and even now, the last few ripples of shock were continuing to dissolve these remaining layers of anaesthetic which were slowly leaving her more open to the pain of the real world. Life without Nick was hitting her hard now, like arrows now that her shield was gone.

She missed him when she woke each morning, the sheets stretching out either side of her like an expanse of loneliness. She missed the way he would lean in and make her think that he was going to kiss her lips, but then swerve to the side and kiss her neck instead. She missed his pretentiousness; the way he could slip an obscure fact or a quote from some philosopher into any conversation and get away with it. She missed the safety of him by her side; she knew that whether they were in resus or at a party, in Michigan or in Holby, he could be by her side in an instant ready to protect and provide. Now rooms seemed emptier, and she felt more vulnerable. She still slept in his shirts, and although his smell had long since been replaced by her washing powder and perfume and cigarettes, she could still bury her face in the folds of the fabric and convince herself that there was still some trace of him there. Sometimes she would sit at her desk, her hand cupping her cheek like his used to, but her soft skin was a long way away from the rough safety of his touch. Her hands ached to hold his, to feel his palm against hers, weathered fingers intertwined with her own and the tips of his fingers pressing against the back of her hand, the pressure reminding her that she wasn't alone. She longed for his voice, his laughter, even his snores, to the extent that she would occasionally hear his snorts of derision like ghostly echoes in places in conversations where he would have laughed. She missed having him to come home to, the knowledge that wherever she was and whatever she was feeling, he could be at home with a bottle of wine, and a listening ear or raw passion, whichever she needed. She missed his secret affection when no one else was watching: the surreptitious slaps or pinches, the winks and the glances across the room; as if he was letting her in on a secret to which everyone else was oblivious. She even missed the things that had irritated her, she would rather have the foul moods and the sarcastic comments back, instead of the silence and the loneliness.  
His absence seemed to take up more space than he had, the lack of him constantly pushing itself to the front of her mind.

It was most painful in the evenings. Partly because she was alone and without distractions, but also because that had always been their time together. When he couldn't sleep, they would stay up for hours, talking or relaxed in each other's company, walking the streets or in bed. There had been, and was still, many a long night of grief and pain aided by alcohol, sad music and more alcohol. Even now it all felt so raw sometimes that anything could set her off; a couple holding hands on the television or a love song on the radio. It would come bubbling to the surface when she least expected it and she'd find herself in the middle of the supermarket with uncontrollable tears pouring her face, sobs wracking her body like shockwaves because she'd seen a bottle of his whisky. But she had been building up a small wall of resistance. She knew that he wanted her to be happy and make the most of the rest of her time. And so she had slowly let other parts of old her life back in: returning to work, calling her mother, a coffee with Tess, a night out with Linda she had planned for the weekend, so that that her head was refilled with old thoughts and friends and laughter and her grief was contained inside a small part of her. She wouldn't say that the grief had grown easier to bear, more that she was becoming accustomed to the constant ache of it, so that she only really noticed it when she was alone.

She knew that she could never forget him. She never wanted to. He had been the only man with whom she had been prepared to settle down, the only man she would have let be the father of her child, the only man she had ever loved. There was no one who could take his place, no one quite big enough or confident enough to fill his shoes. Not yet, anyway: she couldn't imagine herself feeling as impossibly happy with anyone else as she had been with Nick. Maybe in the future, a long way away, there could be someone to whom she could open up, but for now, too much of her was with Nick to begin giving away pieces of herself away to someone else. Remembering their years together was like a safety net, she could immerse herself in memories of their laughter and flirtation and intimacy, blocking out the real world for hours at a time.

One of the most frequent thoughts to run through her mind was of his legacy. He had always wanted to leave something tangible behind at which others could marvel, whether it was the ED or children, so that his blaze of glory was public and enduring. But she was only just coming to realise that his actual legacy was much more delicate, complicated and deep set than he ever knew. He had touched so many people in his life, not that he had been aware of it. In his professional life he had saved countless lives, taught students to do the same, and inspired and encouraged others to begin. Those who knew him as a colleague or a friend still held him in high esteem as a doctor, as a clinical lead and as a man, something which was shown by the sheer volume of people who had paid their respects at his funeral. And the feelings and memories he had inspired in Zoe were worth ten times the grief and pain that had replaced them. The love they had had for one another had been limitless and unconditional and would always have a share in her heart, even if half had died on that roof. There would never be a day when she did not remember him, think about him, miss him; he had shaped the most recent years of her life, and would probably continue to do so forever.  
That was his legacy.

**I hope the end wasn't too disappointing, I debated with myself for AGES as to whether I should write another chapter, but I wanted some sort of hopeful conclusion for her, because the last one had ended so damn sadly. I'm going to leave it like that, unless anyone desperately wants anything else.**

**Thank you for all the lovely comments you have sent on Twitter and on reviews, you've all been too too kind xxxx**


End file.
